Chapter 9 Maeve
MAEVE
The courier arrived at dawn, when the Silver Fang was still locked and Maeve was nursing her first cup of coffee.
She opened the back door expecting a delivery, maybe Cash with an early shipment. Instead, she found a lion she didn't recognize holding an envelope sealed with red wax.
"Maeve Cross?" His voice was formal. Careful.
"That's me."
"Letter for you. Requires signature." He held out a clipboard.
Maeve signed without looking, taking the envelope. Heavy paper. Expensive. The kind of thing that screamed old money and older pride politics. The seal bore a lion's head pressed into wax, unfamiliar but somehow setting her teeth on edge.
"Who's it from?" she asked.
But the courier was already gone, disappearing around the corner like he couldn't get away fast enough.
Maeve closed the door and carried the envelope inside, setting it on the bar while she refilled her coffee. Probably some formal Council thing. Varric being official about the investigation, maybe. Though that didn't explain the seal or the courier's nervousness.
She broke the wax and pulled out thick parchment, unfolding it to reveal neat script.
Maeve Cross,
You are hereby summoned to attend a pride reconciliation at the Cross estate on the winter solstice. Your presence is required to discuss matters of family legacy, holdings, and your management of Cross assets within Hollow Oak.
As the new alpha of the Cross Pride, I have taken it upon myself to restore order and tradition to our family line. Your absence from pride gatherings and your insistence on operating independently has caused concern among the elders.
We expect your attendance. This is not optional.
Hector Cross Alpha, Cross Pride
The coffee cup slipped from Maeve's hand, shattering on the floor.
Hector.
Her uncle. Callum's uncle. The lion who'd fought every progressive reform their pride had tried to implement. Who'd made it clear that females belonged in support roles, not leadership and had sneered at Maeve's ambitions and called her unnatural for wanting more than a mate and cubs.
The lion she and Callum had walked away from ten years ago, leaving him to his bitter traditionalism and poisonous politics.
And now he was alpha of the Cross Pride.
Her lioness rose with a fierce snarl, pacing beneath her skin. Uneasy. Agitated. Something about this felt wrong beyond the obvious. Hector hadn't contacted her in a decade. Hadn't acknowledged her existence after she'd left. Why reach out now?
Your management of Cross assets within Hollow Oak.
The Silver Fang. He was talking about her tavern.
Maeve's hands curled into hard fists. The tavern was hers. She'd built it from nothing, earned every plank of wood and every bottle behind the bar. Hector had no claim to it. No right to summon her like some errant cub who needed discipline.
She grabbed the letter and carried it to the fireplace, still cold from last night. She struck a match and held the flame to the corner of the parchment, watching expensive paper catch and curl.
"Pride reconciliation," she muttered. "He can reconcile with my claws."
The letter burned, smoke rising toward the chimney. Ashes drifted down like snow.
Her lioness didn't settle. It paced and growled and wanted to hunt, sensing threat in ways Maeve's human mind couldn't quite grasp. Hector reaching out after all these years. Demanding attendance. Claiming authority over Cross holdings.
Maybe Dante had been right about the sabotage being deliberate. Maybe someone really was targeting the Silver Fang.
But that was ridiculous. Hector was bitter and traditional, but he was also practical. He wouldn't waste resources on something as petty as sabotaging her shipments just to prove a point.
Varric was being overprotective. The Council was meddling. Those damaged crates and poisoned barrels were accidents, bad luck, nothing more.
She didn't need some conspiracy to explain why things went wrong sometimes.
The door chimed. Frigid air rushed in along with Twyla Honeytree, looking far too awake for this early in the morning.
"We're not open yet," Maeve said without turning around.
"Good thing I'm not a customer." Twyla moved to the bar, setting down a basket that smelled like fresh pastries. "Brought you breakfast. You look like you need it."
"I'm fine."
"You're standing in front of a cold fireplace burning something at dawn." Twyla came around the bar, studying the ashes. "That doesn't scream fine."
"It's nothing." Maeve turned away, grabbing a broom to deal with the shattered coffee cup. "Just junk mail."
"Junk mail that came by private courier?" Twyla's light brown eyes gleamed with that knowing look that made Maeve want to throw her out. "I saw him leaving. Looked nervous."
"Because he delivered bad news."
"What kind of bad news?"
Maeve swept up ceramic shards with more force than necessary. "The kind I don't want to talk about."
"Maeve—"
"I said I don't want to talk about it." She dumped the broken cup in the trash, setting the broom aside. "Whatever you're sensing, whatever gossip you're hoping to dig up, go find it somewhere else."
Twyla didn't move. Just stood there with her wheat-colored hair perfect despite the wind and her expression gentle in a way that was somehow worse than her usual meddling.
"Something's brewing," she said quietly. "I can feel it. The Veil's humming, magic's restless, and you're burning letters at dawn. That's not nothing."
"It's family business." Maeve grabbed her coffee pot, pouring a fresh cup with hands that wanted to shake. "My uncle reaching out after ten years of silence. Demanding I attend some pride gathering like I'm still part of his world."
"Hector." Twyla's voice hardened. "He's the one who sent the letter?"
"You know him?"
"Everyone knows him." Twyla leaned against the bar. "Traditional. Controlling. A lion who thinks females should be seen and not heard. He's the reason you and Callum left, isn't he?"
"Part of it." Maeve sipped her coffee, needing the warmth. "He fought every change. Made life miserable for anyone who disagreed with him. When Callum and I left, we figured he'd stay bitter and we'd stay gone. That was supposed to be the end of it."
"Except now he's reaching out."
"Now he's apparently the alpha of the Cross Pride." Maeve's jaw tightened. "Which means he's got authority I didn't think he'd ever earn. And he's using it to summon me like I owe him something."
Twyla was quiet for a moment, her fae senses reading currents Maeve couldn't see. "You're not going."
"Hell no, I'm not going."
"Good." Twyla picked up a pastry, breaking it in half and offering Maeve a piece. "But burning the letter won't make him go away."
"It made me feel better."
"Did it?" Twyla tilted her head.
Maeve turned away, not wanting Twyla to read too much. Her lioness was uneasy, had been since opening that letter. Something about Hector's timing felt calculated. His sudden interest in her tavern felt pointed.
But that was paranoia talking. Had to be.
"He can't touch me here," Maeve said. "Hollow Oak's not pride territory. The Council governs, not him. Whatever authority he thinks he has stops at the Veil."
"Authority, yes." Twyla's voice carried warning. "But influence? That's different. If he's alpha now, he has resources. Connections. Ways of making trouble that don't require him setting foot in Hollow Oak."
Dante's warning about sabotage. Varric calling in outside help. Those damaged shipments that kept happening despite her careful inventory control.
No. She was connecting dots that didn't exist. Seeing conspiracy where there was only coincidence.
"You're overthinking this," Maeve said.
Twyla moved toward the door, pulling her coat tighter. "Storms always find the strongest roofs first, Maeve. They test what can't be easily broken. And you've built something strong here. Something worth testing."
"That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be." Twyla paused at the door, glancing back. "Just be careful. And maybe don't burn the next letter before someone else reads it. Someone like Dante, who might actually know what Hector's capable of."
The door swung shut, leaving Maeve alone with cold ashes and unease that wouldn't settle.
Maeve looked at the fireplace where Hector's letter had burned. Expensive paper and formal demands turned to smoke and ash.
Her lioness sensed the threats.
Outside, dawn broke over Hollow Oak. Snow fell in soft flakes, covering the world in white.
And somewhere beyond the Veil, her uncle sat in his pride house, writing letters and making plans.
Storms always find the strongest roofs first.
Maeve grabbed another cup of coffee and tried not thinking about whether her roof was strong enough to survive what was coming.